


kick up the roots

by copperwings



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crispinos own a bakery, Dancer Yuri, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Going back home, I used to live in a small town can you tell?, M/M, New England winters with actual snow, Phichit runs a B&B, Phichit's hamsters are awesome, Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Yakov runs a grimy pub, daycare teacher Otabek, dealing with adult stuff like funerals and selling houses, mentioned past minor character death, sassy friend Mila, small town life, there's life after divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperwings/pseuds/copperwings
Summary: At 28, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself a successful dance instructor, freshly divorced and coming back to the home town he left in a huff almost a decade ago. He swore he’d never come back to this tiny hellhole of a town, but now he’s back for his grandpa’s funeral. Yuri had planned to leave as soon as the memorial service is over, but things get complicated when he needs to see to the emptying and selling of his grandfather’s old house - a house that he never wants to set foot in again. He runs into people he used to call friends and people he didn't really know back in the day, and it seems like sometime during the ten years he was gone, someone mixed up the labels and nothing is like it used to be… Starting with the used-to-be brooding bad boy who now runs a daycare and whose smile makes Yuri’s knees go weak.-or:the fic that takes all the sappy romance movie tropes and runs wild with them.





	1. day by day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [forwardpass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwardpass/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a made-up fic title meme on my tumblr, and [forward-pass](http://forward-pass.tumblr.com/) sent in the title _kick up the roots_. I wrote a [rough outline](https://worldofcopperwings.tumblr.com/post/165972398844/fic-title-kick-up-the-roots) for the fic and then realized I wanted to write it out.  
>  -  
> When talking about this fic with people, I referred to it as "Hallmark fic", because it's tackling all the romance movie clichés and everyone and their mother knows how it's going to end, but you still want to read it because it will make your insides go all mushy. ;)

 

Yuri stops his car at the red light and frowns. There is no one else around, and he taps the steering wheel a couple of times, adjusts the volume on the stereo and pushes his sunglasses up on his forehead. He squints at the buildings across the intersection.

 _Was_ there even a traffic light in this spot the last time he was here?

Probably not.

He half-expects a tumbleweed to blow across the empty street, but the streets remain completely void of other people and cars and tumbleweeds.

One eternity later, the light switches to green. Yuri slides the sunglasses back down and slams the gas pedal to the floor. The car shoots forward, pushing him against the backrest of the seat. The grocery store flashes by, and it looks like they have finally replaced the old, sun-faded window tapes with new ones, with the store’s name in bold letters across the windows. It doesn’t make the store look any more attractive to the casual shopper, though, because the building around the neat windows is kind of crumbling down.

He passes the library, the church and the playground with the rickety swings, and they all look exactly the same. Nothing really does change around here.

Well, aside from that traffic light and the store windows.

Yuri parks his car on the street and turns to take in the sight of the house through his dark-tinted glasses.

The house looks the same, if a little worse for wear, and the yard looks like no one has made much of an attempt to weed the flowerbeds in a while. The grass is at least cut, probably courtesy of some neighborhood kid in need of a few bucks.

He looks at the house, the familiar porch and the window up on the second floor where his room used to be. He inhales and tries to will his hand off the steering wheel. _It’s not that hard. Just open the car door, walk across the lawn and dig the house key out of the branch hole in the porch railing. Then unlock the door and go in._

Instead, he stays in his car for what feels like an eternity, staring at the house that sits between almost-identical houses in the neighborhood he used to call home, and he cannot make himself get out of the vehicle.

In contrast, turning the key in the ignition is easy as lifting a feather, and he speeds out of the neighborhood, leaving a swirling cloud of dust after him. He has no doubt that all the neighbors are gawking at him through their curtains.

The prodigal grandson returns, but there is no celebration in his honor. Just a funeral.

 

*

 

The bed & breakfast is in the big wood building that used to be three apartments, if he recalls correctly. Now it’s all same complex, with one entrance at the front and an obnoxiously bright vacancy sign hanging from a pole on the corner of the building.

Once inside, Yuri drops his bag on the floor and dings the bell on the front desk.

“Just a second,” a voice shouts from behind the curtain hanging in the doorway behind the counter.

Someone shuffles out from the back room with a cardboard box in his hands. He turns to slam the box on the counter. “Welcome to ChuChu Bed and Breakfast— _holy crap, hi Yuri_!”

“Phichit,” Yuri says, pushing his sunglasses up his forehead. _Of-fucking-course_. Who else would name a B &B _ChuChu_?

Phichit’s smile is just as wide as it was ten years ago. He leans his elbows on the box he just slammed on the counter. “Wow, it’s been _a while_. How are you? Are you back for the funeral?”

Yuri looks at him incredulously.

Phichit shakes his head. “Stupid question, of course you’re back for the funeral. Sorry for your loss.”

Yuri shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Yeah, so I need a room,” Yuri says, scratching the back of his neck. His sunglasses slide down his forehead and he takes them off altogether, hanging them off the neckline of his shirt.

Phichit frowns. “Can’t you stay at the house?”

Yuri exhales. There is no way he’s going to start explaining the ghosts of his past to someone he hasn’t seen in a decade and could barely tolerate back then. “Look, do you have a room or not? Because I can go somewhere else.”

He really can’t, and Phichit knows it too. This is the only place in the entire town that even remotely resembles a hotel.

“Sure I do,” Phichit says, smiling again. He turns to check the rack of keys hanging behind the counter. “I have the corner room upstairs, nice view. Then there’s the first floor with the windows to the backyard, very calm and quiet.”

Yuri runs his fingers through his hair. “Just, pick one. I don’t really care. Any room will do.”

Phichit leads the way to the second floor and opens a wooden door leading into a room.

Yuri looks around. The wallpaper is pastel pink roses on white background and the furniture looks like scattered remnants from past decades. All in all, the entire room has the atmosphere of grandma’s tacky couch, all the way to the curtains that would blend into the wallpaper if the roses on them weren’t darker in shade. The two corner windows overlook the street and the side yard.

Yuri instantly loves and hates the room. It looks so damn cozy and so damn ugly at the same time.

Phichit stands in the doorway while Yuri drops his bag on the bed. “Is this okay?” Phichit asks. “All the rooms are decorated with different eras and themes, so if you want something a bit more muted, the downstairs room is pretty monochrome.”

“No, this is fine,” Yuri says, pulling the sunglasses off the neckline of his shirt and tossing them on the nightstand.

He waits for Phichit to leave, but it seems rules of privacy and discretion do not apply to people you happened to know ten years ago. “What are you going to do with the house?” Phichit asks curiously. He must be wondering why Yuri is here, paying a nightly fee for a room, when he could stay in his childhood home for free.

 _Burn it to the ground_ , Yuri wants to say, but he manages to keep the words behind his lips. He shrugs. “Sell it.”

Phichit still lingers. “Well,” he finally says. “I’ll see you at the funeral. And, um, at the front desk if you need anything.”

Yuri doesn’t ask why Phichit is coming to the funeral. He suspects everyone he used to know is coming, for reasons unknown.

“Yeah,” Yuri says, pulling his phone from his pocket when it buzzes. He looks down at the display and grimaces. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

Phichit finally leaves, and after he’s closed the door Yuri promptly ignores the call, dropping the device on the bed where it continues buzzing for what he imagines is at least ten more rings. Inna must really want something.

The buzzing ends, but a message follows. Yuri drops onto the bed with a sigh and clicks the message open. _I thought we agreed to be civil with each other,_ it says.

Yuri rolls his eyes at the phone. _I am being civil_.

_Not answering my calls is your idea of being civil?_

_What do you want?_ Yuri types.

_Your cat tore apart my bra._

Yuri doesn’t remind Inna that Taiga used to be _their_ cat, not just his cat. They got the Siberian cat together after Potya passed away.

He can’t help the grim smile on his face, though. He needs to remember to buy Taiga a treat for that.

_Well I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere, I can’t magically turn into a new bra for you._

He remembers the messages they used to send each other. They were all bad grammar, capslock and winky emojis. Now the messages are clinical and detached and the grammar in them would make a college English professor proud.

_I’m buying a new one but you’re paying for it._

Yuri sighs. As if he’s not paying enough already. _Fine_ , he types, tossing the phone to the other side of the king-sized bed. At least she agreed to take the cat for the duration of the funeral, so he didn’t have to find an expensive pet hotel. He lowers his head on the bed and blinks to focus his eyes on the duvet. Even the bedsheets have roses on them.

Yuri slides his left hand over the rose-patterned duvet and stares at it. There is still a slightly paler spot on the fourth finger where a ring used to sit. He rubs it absently against the blanket, as if that would make the mark disappear.

 

*

 

Despite the cool autumn breeze through the open window, the black suit feels suffocating. Yuri tugs at his tie with a sigh as he glances at himself in the mirror. He arranged for the funeral home to deal with everything so he doesn’t have to. All he has to do is to actually show up. But now that the moment is here, he finds himself lingering in the tacky pink room, unwilling to accomplish even that.

He glances at himself in the mirror once again. He is neat and formal in his black suit, like a grandson in mourning should be.

Yuri has no idea how a mourning grandson should behave, but he molds his face into an expression of blank melancholy and leaves the room, putting his sunglasses on.

The drive to the church is over too fast. Yuri parks his car in the parking lot and looks around through his sunglasses. Judging by the number of cars already in the lot, the old man has managed to get quite a turnout. Yuri wonders how many of them are here just to make sure he’s really dead.

Probably just him. If he recalls correctly, everyone in the neighborhood loved the old man. He was a pillar of the society in this town, and he tried to mold his grandson into something resembling himself in that sense. Yuri guesses the old man wanted him to become more like his grandfather and less like his mother. But genes are hard to surpass. Like mother, like son, both running off as soon as possible to a life of dance and champagne. For his mother, it had been less of the former and more of the latter, which is why she isn’t here today to see old man Plisetsky lowered into the ground two states over from where she is pushing daisies. As for his father, Yuri never knew who he was. He’s not entirely sure his mother knew either. She never did know when to stop with the champagne. Yuri has had his fair share of champagne as well, but for him, dancing was always the number one priority.

Yuri sees Phichit waving as he enters the church, but Yuri ignores him and goes to sit at the front. He’s alone on the length of bench reserved for close family. Yuri keeps the sunglasses on throughout the ceremony.

He keeps his eyes trained at the front wall, never looking at the casket or the priest. People make speeches, and at some point there is a quietness in the air that suggests he’s supposed to make one too.

Yuri keeps staring at the wall until the priest clears his throat and continues.

He gets up when the time comes to carry out the casket.

Victor Nikiforov nods at him as Yuri takes his place among the pallbearers. Yuri nods back, and that’s all the interaction he has with anyone during the entire burying process. He stands where is supposed to stand, drops a handful of soil on the casket when it’s time and then leaves to his car. For a moment, the parking lot is a mess as everyone tries to leave at the same time.

The memorial service is held at the funeral home down the road, because Yuri didn’t want all these people in the house, gawking at the stuff his grandfather left behind. Well, the biggest reason is that he _himself_ doesn’t want to be in the house, but having others around the house is on the list of reasons right beneath that.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” they all say one by one as Yuri stands outside the funeral home, shaking their hands as they pass him.

Yuri nods. _I didn’t even talk to him for a decade_ , he thinks.

“I heard you got married to a Rockette,” someone says with a wink and a nudge later on. “Too bad she couldn’t make it here.”

“Holiday season’s show rehearsals are crazy this time of year,” Yuri says with a shrug, even though the holiday show practices don’t start for another two weeks. He plasters a fake smile on his face and pushes his left hand deeper into his pocket.

JJ and Isabella approach him, their arms linked. “Sorry we couldn’t be at the ceremony. JJ had to work until three,” Isabella says. JJ shakes Yuri’s hand and Isabella hugs him. Yuri can feel her belly heavy against his stomach during the hug.

“When’s the baby due?” Yuri asks because that’s what you’re supposed to ask.

“November,” Isabella says, her hand stroking the black-clothed bulge. “I’m sorry about your grandfather,” she then says.

Yuri shrugs.

“So if you need something to do tonight, me and Leo are going out to Felty’s,” JJ says, slamming a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “I figured you’d want something else to think about than this.” He makes a gesture encompassing the people in the room.

Yuri snorts. “Might as well,” he says. It’s been a while since he’s visited a pub, especially one as grimy as Felty’s.

Once JJ and Isabella have retreated to get some food, Victor Nikiforov approaches with his husband Yuuri Katsuki in tow.

“Yuri, we’re so—”

“Sorry for my loss,” Yuri says. “Yes, now that we got that out of the way, did you want something?”

Victor frowns. “I see you’re still as temperamental as you used to be.”

Yuri lets out a long sigh. “It’s just, I’ve heard those words approximately two thousand times since I came back. Eventually there was going to be that last one that broke the camel’s back.”

“Fair enough. Listen, as you probably know, your grandfather left a will in my care.” Victor sips from his glass. “If you can come by the office tomorrow, we can go over it together.”

Right, Victor runs the small attorney office down by the creek.

Yuri nods. “Yeah, I’ll come by tomorrow.”

The sooner all this is over with, the better. Then he can go back to New York and try to build his life back together from the shards. His career is doing fine, just like it’s been for the past years, but his personal life not so much.

He hates the feeling of missing Inna; like he doesn’t have the right to miss her anymore. Their split was a mutual decision, and Yuri knows they’re better off without each other, but over the years he grew used to having her around. Like one grows attached to a piece of furniture. Although thinking about his wife as a piece of furniture is probably one of the many reasons why she is an _ex_ -wife these days.

Yuri looks around the people gathered in the funeral home and wonders if it would be considered too rude for him to leave before anyone else does.

It probably would.

 

*

 

After everyone has finally left the funeral home, Yuri drives to the B&B to change out of his funeral attire and into a pair of black jeans and a hoodie. He didn’t really feel like eating at the memorial, so now he goes downstairs to where the vending machine stands beside the front desk.

Phichit is also back, but he’s still wearing his suit as Yuri walks down the stairs. “It was a nice ceremony,” Phichit says from where he is jotting down something behind the counter.

Yuri stops, hesitates. “Yeah,” he finally says. He digs in his pockets for some cash and goes to the vending machine, trying to decide what he wants.

“Oh, that doesn’t really work, so you can just pay me and I’ll open it for you,” Phichit says, walking around the counter to the machine.

“Uh, I’ll have a bag of chips and a chocolate bar,” Yuri says, handing Phichit some cash.

Phichit opens the front of the machine and hands Yuri his snacks.

“Keep the change,” Yuri says awkwardly.

There is movement from the breast pocket of Phichit’s suit jacket, and a hamster pokes its head out. “Looks like someone else wants a treat as well,” Phichit grins.

“You still have hamsters?” Yuri asks, unable to contain the smile on his face.

Phichit grins. “Yeah, five of them. This here is Pooka.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Hi there, Pooka. Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

Yuri pushes the chips into his hoodie pocket and opens the chocolate bar on the front steps. He leaves his car parked on the street and turns right at the corner, munching on the chocolate. Felty’s is just a few blocks away anyway.

Hell, _everything_ in this town is just a few blocks away.

In a way it’s nice, because he doesn’t have to drive around and then worry about finding a parking spot, or rely on public transportation, but it makes this place feel so fucking small.

The large neon sign on the roof of the pub brings back flashbacks. Yuri recalls climbing up there once with JJ and Leo, all three of them shitfaced and all three of them underage. Yakov was kind enough to not call the cops on them, but he did smack their heads together and send them home.

Yuri recalls hanging out in the bar when he was seventeen, playing pool, and pretending he was only drinking soda when in reality JJ snuck him rum and cokes and Yakov pretended like he didn’t notice. He also remembers the many times he went to dance practice in the morning with a terrible headache, but smiled through it because Madame Lilia did not tolerate any excuses.

“Yuri!”

The shout snaps him back to reality, to where he is standing in the doorway of the pub. Leo and JJ are waving from the corner table, and Yuri waves back before going to the bar.

“Can I have a rum and coke, please?” Yuri says, and Yakov turns from where he’s stacking glasses.

“Well, if it isn’t Yuri Plisetsky!” Yakov says gruffly and then guffaws out a laugh. “I suppose now you’re old enough to buy one yourself,” Yakov says and winks.

Yuri rolls his eyes. “I suppose.”

The awful thing about little towns is that everyone knows you and they never let you forget the things you did over a decade ago.

He makes his way to the table with the drink in hand.

“Yuri, how are you, man?” Leo gives him a one-armed hug.

JJ has swapped his black suit into jeans, a sleeveless hoodie and a snapback. He holds his hand out for a fist bump, and Yuri cuffs his knuckles briefly against JJ’s. “Hey man, sit down.”

“So you came back for the funeral,” Leo muses. “That’s harsh. I mean, harsh that he died.”

“I guess,” Yuri says and sips his drink.

JJ and Leo ask him about New York, and Yuri answers as briefly as he can. Dancing was the one thing about him he felt they never really understood.

“I was dancing for a company for five years, then I retired at twenty-five and now I’m a choreographer and an instructor,” Yuri says.

“Aww, you’re a retired old man,” JJ says and reaches out to ruffle Yuri’s hair.

Yuri dodges out of the way. JJ’s breath smells like cheap beer and whatever he ate for dinner. JJ talks about how he’s fixing his old man’s car from the fifties, which is kind of cool, but there is only so much talk about car engines that Yuri can take.

Then they start talking about how shitty it is that the gas prices have been hiked up, and from there it isn’t a long way until they are groaning about the oil crisis and how someone should really do something about it.

JJ is on his fifth beer while Yuri is nursing the same rum and coke. He feels like there is a weird gap between them, one that wasn’t there ten years ago. They used to have _fun_ together.

Yuri doesn’t know if it’s them who changed over the years, or if it’s him who has changed.

 

*

 

The following morning Yuri drives down to the creek and into the small office occupied by Nikiforov’s attorney services.

Victor’s secretary presses a painted nail on the intercom button and says, “Yuri Plisetsky is here.”

Yuri stares at the abstract painting on the wall until the door behind him opens and Victor asks him to come in.

“Please, sit,” Victor says, pointing to the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

There are stacks of paper on every available surface, and Victor spends a minute digging around the piles until he finds what he is looking for.

“Ah, here it is.” He puts his reading glasses on and thumbs through the thin folder. “So, your late grandfather’s will.”

Yuri leans back. He’s not sure he’s ready to hear what the will has to say, although he’s pretty sure he can guess.

“As his only surviving relative, you have inherited the house and everything in it,” Victor says. “There’s no money other than what he had in his bank account, which isn’t much.”

Yuri doesn’t care about money. He just wants to sell the house and move on. He says as much out loud, and Victor sighs.

“I figured you’d say that. Well, if that’s what you want to do, then we can put the house on the market. Let me warn you, though, you probably won’t get much by selling it.”

“If it wasn’t clear enough, I can repeat the part where I said I don’t care about the money,” Yuri says.

“Okay, okay,” Victor says. “What about the furniture and personal property?”

Yuri purses his lips and considers his options. As much as he hates having to go into the house to go through all the stuff, he hates the idea of someone else doing it even more.

“I’ll go through it,” Yuri finally says. “A lot of it is probably junk anyway.”

“Here’s your grandfather’s house key. They, um, delivered it here after he was found, to be handed over to you.” Victor hands him a key, and Yuri twirls it in his fingers. The key charm is a small wooden slab with a wobbly cat carved into it. The wood has been polished shiny over the years, the cat becoming a faded silhouette on it.

Yuri almost throws the key in the trash when he realizes the charm at the end of the chain was made by him, when he was perhaps eight years old. Carved under his grandfather’s watchful eye in the garage.

He pushes the key into his pocket and leaves the office.

 

*

 

Inna texts him to ask how the funeral went, and Yuri texts back with a generic reply that doesn’t really say much. He hates the clinical formality of their messages, but he doesn’t know how to ask her to stop sending him messages either. He doesn’t even know if he _wants_ her to stop sending messages. The inside of his head is such a mess these days, and dealing with grandpa’s personal property isn’t going to make that any better.

JJ texts him and asks him for lunch at the diner near the car shop, but Yuri declines and says he has things he needs to do.

Victor texts to tell him that he needs to clean up the house by Friday if he wants to put it on the market next week.

Could people just _stop_ _texting him_ for one moment? Yuri tosses the phone to the other end of the bed and waits for it to immediately buzz another message notification. Thankfully the phone remains silent.

So, Yuri’s plan of popping back for the funeral, in and out in a couple of days, looks like it’s stretched into a whole week and thus shot to hell.

He sighs and pulls his tablet out of his bag to send an email to the students scheduled for this week.

_Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have to extend my visit out of state. I am sorry to inform that all classes are canceled this week, for a full refund that can be worked out through the dance studio’s secretary. I hope to see you all again next week. YP_

He receives a few scattered confirmation messages from the students and spends the rest of the morning going through his schedule for next week and calling the dance studio to let them know of the delay.

Lunch hour finds Yuri at the grocery store. The window tapings look even tackier from close up, but he wanders in anyway and goes to the deli to see if there’s anything that looks even remotely edible.

He’s standing by the salad bar, pondering his options, when someone brushes past him hurriedly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man who bumped into him says, turning to flash a quick smile in Yuri’s direction. Then he saunters off, leaving Yuri standing next to the salad selection, gaping.

_Wait… was that Otabek Altin?_

Otabek Altin, the brooding bad boy from high school. The one with an undercut, a leather jacket and a motorcycle; the one who never smiled. Well, he still has a leather jacket and something resembling an undercut with a topknot, but apparently now he is also sauntering around the grocery store tossing smiles around like pennies.

And what a smile it was.

Yuri turns back to the salad bar and grins to himself. So, that’s one other thing that has changed around here, aside from the emergence of a traffic light at an intersection that absolutely does _not_ need a traffic light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually reside on [tumblr](https://worldofcopperwings.tumblr.com), come talk to me there. My ask box is always open!  
> -  
> Thanks to the lovely [thoughtsappear](http://thoughtsappear.tumblr.com) for her beta work, once again.


	2. we grew

 

Yuri goes back to the B&B to eat his takeaway salad.

As he sits down on the bed with his salad and a plastic fork, there is a squeaking noise coming from underneath the bed.

Yuri sighs. _I swear to god if there are mice in here—_

He plops down beside the bed and crouches to peek under the corner of the duvet.

Phichit looks surprised when Yuri comes downstairs and slams a hamster onto the front desk. “Can you keep Pooka out of my room, please.”

Phichit takes the hamster. “This is not Pooka, this is Kat,” he says, stroking the hamster’s fur. “How did you get in there, silly?” he asks, lifting the hamster to eye level so he can stare into its beady eyes.

“You named your hamster _cat_?” Yuri asks incredulously.

“No, it’s Kat, K-A-T,” Phichit explains.

“Well, whatever the hamster’s name, I don’t want it under my bed,” Yuri mutters.

“Sorry about that,” Phichit hums with an apologetic smile and lowers the hamster back on the counter.

The afternoon goes by as Yuri tries to come up with excuses to avoid the unavoidable. He plans his schedule for two months ahead. He orders concert tickets online and curses the slow wi-fi Phichit has in this place. He makes notes for the company’s spring dance show choreography even though that’s still well over eight months away and there’s the holiday show before that. But the holiday show is all planned out, and he really needs something to occupy himself.

Eventually Yuri admits that there is absolutely nothing he can do anymore to put off going to the house.

He picks up another curious hamster that’s nosing around the hallway near his door, and carries it downstairs to the front desk.

“Here’s another one. Seriously, don’t you have a cage for these things?” he asks as he drops the hamster on Phichit’s extended hand.

Phichit grins sheepishly. “Yeah, but I mostly keep the cage door open. They don’t usually leave the room, though.”

So the hamsters just really love annoying Yuri, then. _Fantastic_.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t see many other customers at the B&B. Who wants to stay at a place infested by rodents?

Yuri slams the car door shut and uses his hamster-induced rage to drive to his grandfather’s house before his brain catches up and makes him chicken out.

This time he parks the car in the driveway that looks oddly empty without his grandfather’s Beetle in front of the garage. What happened to the car? Yuri peers at the garage suspiciously. A quick glance through the murky garage windows shows him that the car is indeed inside.

It was never in the garage when Yuri lived here. The garage was always full of his grandfather’s woodwork. Now there is no sign of the long-lived hobby in the garage, aside from some scattered tools on the side table.

Yuri digs out the key and looks at the charm dangling from the keychain. The lopsided cat seems to be staring back at him accusingly.

The front stairs seem more difficult to climb than ever before. Yuri drags his feet and stops to straighten the doormat before pulling open the squeaky screen door. He closes his eyes for a moment and then unlocks the door, stepping inside.

The house smells the same, if a little unused. It’s a familiar scent, one that is simultaneously soothing and revolting. It’s woodchips and ground coffee beans and vanilla tobacco. The scent brings back flashbacks: grandpa in the kitchen, making dinner; grandpa in the living room, watching the news; grandpa walking down the stairs, complaining about his aching back.

Yuri snaps out of it and makes his way through the house, flicking on lights as he goes.

Everything looks exactly the same but somehow faded, like someone slapped a vintage filter on the house. The living room carpet is more worn-out than it used to be. The curtains look dusty and sun-faded, and the hole in the couch has grown bigger. There are haphazard stitches around the tear from unsuccessful attempts to keep it from spreading. There is a row of Yuri’s school photos on the bookshelf, and a photo of his mother from before Yuri was even born. He doesn’t recall if the photos have always been there, but he has a feeling they haven’t. One of them looks like it’s been torn out of a photo album.

It’s getting dark outside and the stairs leading to the second floor look like Yuri’s childhood nightmares, before he flicks the light on at the bottom and watches the bulbs come to life, illuminating the wooden steps.

Upstairs, the doors to the bedrooms are closed.

Yuri goes to his own room first. He pushes the door open and stands in the doorway, looking at the familiar angles of the furniture in the dark. The light flickers as he turns the switch, as if the lightbulb hasn’t been changed in a decade. Maybe it hasn’t.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but the room is exactly the way he left it, down to the small scattered items on his nightstand.

It might feel better if grandpa had turned it into a storage or a hobby room, but seeing the place like this makes his stomach twist.

He goes to the closet and pulls the door open. The ballet posters still decorate the inside of the door. The closet is mostly empty, because he took the clothes with him when he left. There are a couple of shirts hanging off the rack. Probably something he didn’t want back then. Yuri takes one out and runs his finger along the collar of the shirt.

Going into grandpa’s bedroom without knocking is probably one of the weirdest things Yuri has ever experienced. He has his hand raised, knuckles ready to rap the wood of the door, before he realizes there is going to be no response. However, the movement is so ingrained he almost feels like he _has_ to do it.

Instead, he lowers his hand to the doorknob and opens the door.

The room has been cleaned; the bed is stripped off sheets and blankets and even the mattress is gone. Well, he supposes it had to be cleaned, because they only found grandfather after a few days after his death. One of the neighbors noticed the accumulated newspapers on the front porch and came to investigate. Yuri swallows at the thought, that it took an accumulation of newspapers for anyone to even take notice. His heart stings in his chest as if accusing him.

The autopsy report said it was a peaceful death, though. Grandfather died in his sleep, probably didn’t even realize what was happening.

In a way it’s a relief to know.

Yuri stands in the doorway but doesn’t venture into the room. In the end, he flips the light off and shuts the door.

Going through all this stuff and all these memories is going to be a rollercoaster of emotional mindfuck, he can already tell.

 

*

 

In the morning, Yuri ties his hair up in a messy bun, puts on jeans and an oversized hoodie and drives over to the grocery store to ask if they have extra cardboard boxes. He drives back to his grandfather’s house with a wobbly pile of boxes in various different sizes and drags them inside.

He drops the boxes on the floor and looks around. He doesn’t even know where to start.

In the end, he goes to the bookshelf and starts piling books into one of the boxes. There’s a couple of books he puts aside for keeping, but everything else flies into the box with such force that it spreads fine dust around the room.

After filling up two boxes, most of the bookshelves in the living room are empty. He carries another box upstairs and empties his own bookshelf as well.

“What am I going to do with three boxes of books?” Yuri asks out loud.

 _A bonfire_ is probably not the answer, although it’s the first idea that pops into his head. No one wants to buy used books anymore, but perhaps the library could take them as a donation?

He loads the boxes into the car and drives over to the library.

They have finally installed automatic sliding doors at the front entrance, so people don’t have to be afraid of losing a toe or two to the heavy library door. The old door used to swing shut so quickly that there was an urban legend in school about a boy who got cut in half when he didn’t get out of the door’s way fast enough.

Yuri marches over to the library counter and blinks at the tousle of red hair behind it. “Mila?” he asks cautiously.

The librarian looks up and her eyebrows rise almost to her hairline. “Yuri Plisetsky, as I live and breathe,” she says slowly. She gets up and walks around the counter, and Yuri feels his bones cracking as Mila hugs him. “You little shithead, you could at least have called every now and then,” Mila grumbles as she lets go.

“Sorry.” Yuri smiles sheepishly and leans onto the counter. “How are you doing?” he asks.

Mila smiles. “I’m a librarian,” she says, like that explains anything.

“I can see that.”

“Are you around for long?” Mila asks. “Oh hey, and sorry—”

“Please, I’ve heard that too many times already,” Yuri interrupts.

Mila nods. “Fair enough.”

“And as an answer to your question, I have a question for you,” Yuri continues. “I’m going through my grandfather’s stuff so I can empty the house and put it on the market. I have like three boxes of books in my car. Do you by any chance take donations?”

Mila purses her lips. “Hold on, let me check,” she says. She goes behind the counter again and looks down to her computer screen, scrolling down as if searching for something. “Yeah, we can take them. They probably won’t end up in the library itself but we’ll donate and recycle what we can.”

Yuri shrugs. “I don’t care what happens to them, I just want them out of my hands.”

“Understandable. Well, bring them over and I’ll put them in the back,” Mila says.

“Be right back.” Yuri salutes her and walks out of the library and to the parking lot. He opens the car door and pulls out the first box, heaving it against his hip and nudging the door shut with the box. He walks up the stairs and is even more thankful of the automated system opening the doors for him. The old library door would have been a struggle on its own, let alone when carrying a box full of books.

Yuri slams the box down beside the checkout counter and leaves to grab the second box.

When he walks down the front steps, he almost runs over a flock of six very tiny humans who all are wearing neon yellow vests and walking in a wobbly line up the stairs.

“Alright, stop there in front of the doors for a moment, I need to help Cory with his shoelaces,” a voice calls from behind the children.

Yuri’s eye slide over to the source of the voice, and no… _it can’t be._

But it is. It’s Otabek Altin again, with a smile on his face and herding the children toward the library. Yuri stops on the stairs and watches as the preschool-aged children wander up the stairs and stop in front of the doors, waiting for Otabek who has scooped a seventh child up and is now climbing up the steps.

“Okay, you can go in through the doors, and then we’re going left from there. Do you remember which way is left?” Otabek asks.

There is a chorus of small voices confirming that yes, they know which way is left.

Yuri keeps staring as the six tiny children file inside the library building and make their way toward the kids’ section. Otabek passes him on the stairs with the seventh child under his arm and flashes a friendly smile in his direction.

It’s not a smile of recognition, though. It’s the type of smile one offers to unfamiliar people out of sheer politeness.

The blank smile of non-recognition stings a little. Not that Yuri expects Otabek to remember him. They never used to hang out with the same crowd. But still. Has he left no trace in Otabek’s memory at all?

Yuri shakes the thought off and goes to get the second box from the car.

As he carries the box over to Mila, he stops and hesitates. “Is that Otabek Altin?” Yuri asks, pointing a thumb toward the leather-jacket clad figure surrounded by kids in the next section over.

Mila grins. “Yeah. He runs the daycare by the city hall these days.”

Yuri gapes. “No way.”

“Yes way.” Mila winks.

“Looks like I’ve missed out on a lot of gossip over the years,” Yuri mutters.

Mila looks at the clock on the wall. “Well, if that was all the boxes, then we could perhaps get lunch together and I can fill you in on what’s happened since one Mr. Yuri Plisetsky left in a huff ten years ago and never came back.”

“One more box,” Yuri says, holding up a finger and walking to the door. “Then I’m all yours.”

Lunch with Mila will be a good distraction. Granted, he’d do pretty much anything to avoid spending time at his grandfather’s house. Well, technically it’s _his_ house now, but Yuri has never felt less like home anywhere.

Yuri brings over the last box and Mila texts for her coworker to return from lunch as soon as possible so she can leave.

As they walk to the door, Yuri casts one final glance at Otabek, who has shed the leather jacket on the floor and is sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading to the children who are all gathered around him. His topknot is falling out and he keeps pushing a strand of hair off his face. Even with the awful grandpa sweater he’s wearing, he looks very good.

Yuri swallows, and then snaps out of it when Mila elbows him in the ribs. “If you’re done drooling, we can go now,” she says sweetly.

“I wasn’t drooling,” Yuri mutters and turns to walk out through the doors.

“Sure you weren’t,” Mila retorts.

Being with Mila is so weird, because they immediately pick right back up from where they left a decade ago. They haven’t really talked to each other except through social media likes, but now that he’s here they instantly fall back into their old bickering habits and it’s like Yuri never left.

“Are you still dancing?” Yuri asks.

Mila cocks her hip like a challenge and then does a twirl on the sidewalk. “Well, just for my own fun these days,” she then admits. “Madame Lilia retired a few years back and there hasn’t been a dance studio anywhere nearby where I could take classes.”

“But you were so good, why haven’t you founded your own dance studio?” Yuri asks. “You could take the throne, become Madame Lilia the second.”

Mila sighs and nudges Yuri. “Yeah, me and what money could found a dance studio?”

It’s silent for a moment.

“But the library is a fun place to work at,” Mila says eventually. “Not all of us can run off to New York and snatch positions with world-famous dance companies.”

Yuri squints at her. “Are you mocking me?”

“Yes, always,” Mila says cheerfully.

It’s a good feeling to have Mila mock her. No one has properly dropped Yuri on the ground in a few years now, so it’s a sobering feeling to come back and have Mila treating him like it’s no big deal that he danced in all the major productions during his years with the company and has since choreographed a lot of the current productions.

“I’m in the mood for _all_ the carbs right now,” Mila says. “Have you been to Crispino’s since you came back?”

Yuri shakes his head.

“You remember the Crispino twins, right?” Mila asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Yuri says. The surname rings a bell but he can’t connect a face to it. Or faces, since there are two of them? They must be older because he’s pretty sure they weren’t in school at the same time as he was.

“Well, Sara was studying to become a lawyer or whatever, but she decided it wasn’t for her, so she studied to become a pastry chef instead. Then she and her brother Michele founded a bakery in the building around the corner, where the butcher’s shop used to be.” Mila points ahead. “Sara makes the pastries and her brother deals with the café.”

“You wanna have pastries for lunch?” Yuri teases.

“Oh, your waistline can take it,” Mila says in a carefree tone. “Come on, their _sfogliatella_ pastries are to die for.” She links her arm with his and pulls him along.

The bakery is small and very cozy. There’s a café adjoined to it, with mismatched tables, chairs and dishes. The walls are the original red brick walls, dug out from underneath the tile walls the butcher used to have. Yuri looks around. New Yorkers would eat this shit right up, because this is just the type of a rustic hipster place that’s a big hit right now.

Most of the tables already have people sitting at them. Apparently Mila is not the only one in town who thinks pastries are an acceptable form of lunch. Michele Crispino stands behind the counter in an apron and when Yuri sees him he remembers who this douchebag is; Yuri used to see him all the time at Felty’s. Well, seemingly Michele is a reformed used-to-be douchebag, because now he greets them politely with a wide smile on his face. Yuri has to stop his eyebrows from shooting up to his hairline in surprise.

“You have to try their special Italian blend of coffee,” Mila says. “It’s better than any shitty latte you can get in New York."

Michele winks. “Damn right,” he says, and Yuri almost asks if Michele had to practice in front of a mirror to learn how to smile. He used to sit at the bar at Felty’s and scowl at everyone.

“I’ll have whatever she recommends,” Yuri says and points at Mila, resigned. “Not like she’s going to leave me alone until I order what she wants me to order anyway.”

Mila nods solemnly. “It’s good that you know your place,” she deadpans.

Mila orders them both a coffee and some kind of filled puff pastries and they make their way to an empty table near the back wall.

Yuri sips his coffee cautiously. Mila was right, it is really good. “So, you promised to tell me all the gossip,” he reminds Mila.

“Where do I even begin?” Mila says, shaking her head. She bites a chunk off her pastry and chews it thoughtfully. “Mmm,” she hums and swallows. “This is so good. Try it!”

Yuri takes a small bite. “Mmh,” he says, blinking. He swallows the piece and looks at Mila accusingly.  “Okay, you were right, and I need to leave this town _immediately_ or I’ll end up eating these every day and by the time I go back to New York I’ll weigh as much as a train car.”

Mila laughs. “Glad to be of service. So, gossip. Let me see,” she says, tapping her chin. “Well, perhaps I’ll start with Otabek Altin, since you were slobbering all over the library floor earlier when you spotted him.”

Yuri sputters. “I was _not_.”

Mila just gives him a look. “ _Yura_ ,” she says with a knowing tone, the diminutive falling easily from her lips. No one has called him _Yura_ in a while. Not since Inna.

Mila smiles cautiously. “I watched you drool over people through your high school years, I know that look you had on your face in the library.” She casts a pointed look at Yuri’s ring finger. “And concluding from the lack of shiny on your finger, you are free to drool over whoever you want.”

Yuri can’t help the tiny movement of his thumb over the spot where the ring used to be. He had a habit of using his thumb to roll the ring around on his finger, and now when he does it, it feels strange to not have anything there. He shrugs.

“He’s single, you know,” Mila says. She looks like a cat that just found a bowl of cream.

Yuri sighs. “I came here for my grandpa’s funeral and to sell the house, not to have a bandaid hookup with some random guy from high school.”

“And he likes guys,” Mila continues, and Yuri can’t help the immediate look of interest he shoots in her direction.

“Really?” he asks in a tone that’s as close to nonchalant as he can muster.

Mila cackles. “So you _were_ drooling.”

“Ugh.” Yuri hides his face behind the coffee mug and sips from it. “It’s too soon anyway,” he says.

“It’s been months,” Mila says knowingly.

Yuri blinks. “What?”

“You _do_ know that certain gossip magazines write about you, right?”

Yuri lowers the coffee mug on the table and buries his face in his hands. “You have _not_ been following my life through those,” he mutters.

“Well, if you _called_ me every once in a while, maybe I wouldn’t have to,” Mila accuses.

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Fine, yeah, it’s all my fault.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Mila says. “Anyway, so Otabek Altin.”

“Hmm?” Yuri takes a bite of the pastry.

“He left for college after high school, as one does.”

Yuri remembers that. Otabek was in the same class with Mila, so Yuri was there when they graduated.

“We thought he’d skip town and never come back,” Mila muses. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, so imagine everyone’s surprise when he shows up, four years later, with a degree in _child care_ of all things. So he waltzes in and takes over the daycare by the city hall and fucking brings it back from the dead. It was like magic. The building was crumbling down and in awful shape; people were taking their kids to the daycare in the next town because of the mold and whatnot. Otabek sweet-talked the mayor’s office into sponsoring a full renovation of the old building, there was an article about that in the county newspaper and all.”

Yuri shakes his head and smiles. It’s hard to imagine the resident high school bad boy sweet-talking anyone into doing anything, but then again, he’s seen Otabek’s smile twice already. Perhaps they taught him that in college, along with how to take care of children’s educational needs: how to smile so that people’s knees go weak and they’ll do anything for you.

Not that his knees were weak when Otabek smiled. Much.

“You should go talk to him,” Mila says. Her tone is annoyingly suggestive.

Yuri shoves the last of the pastry into his mouth and rolls his eyes as he swallows it. “Yeah, where would I do that? Go visit the daycare and say, _‘like what you’ve done with the place’_?”

“That’s one option,” Mila deadpans. “Or you can talk to him next time you run into him somewhere.”

“Like it’s guaranteed I’ll run into him,” Yuri mutters. He doesn’t know at which point he agreed to go talk to Otabek, but now they’re talking like he did. That’s probably just Mila assuming things as usual.

“C’mon. We both know how small this place is.”

Well, that much is true.

 

*

 

It seems like life works in a way that guarantees that when you don’t want to see someone, you see them fucking everywhere, whereas the person you _want_ to see seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.

Yuri is dumping his grandfather’s sheets and towels into a textile recycling bin in the grocery store’s parking lot, when JJ’s voice calls his name from somewhere across the lot.

“Yuri, hey man,” JJ says and lifts his hand in a high-five.

Yuri slaps his palm briefly against JJ’s.

“How have you been?” JJ asks.

Yuri nods toward the bin. “Just dumped my grandfather’s bedsheets and stuff like that in there. So yeah, I’ve been better.”

“Sorry to hear that,” JJ says. He glances over his shoulder, and Yuri sees Isabella waving from across the lot where their car is parked. “I gotta go, but hey, I’d like to see you before you leave again.”

Yuri’s smile feels a little bit forced. “Yeah, sure. I’ll have to see when I have time.”

He doesn’t really have anything against JJ per se, but he just feels like they don’t have a lot in common these days. Happily married soon-to-be-dad car mechanic and a divorced dance instructor. Yeah, sounds like fertile ground for conversations.

Well, perhaps they _could_ have interesting conversations if they tried, it’s not completely out of the question, but concluding from the conversation attempts on the night of the funeral, Yuri wouldn’t bet a lot of money on it. He’s still not entirely sure if JJ has changed or if he himself has changed. Or perhaps they both have changed a little, but in different directions? Either way, the easy connection they used to share is not there anymore. Not like with Mila, who is now constantly texting and teasing Yuri and it feels like no time at all has passed.

Yuri watches as JJ walks over to the car and kisses Isabella on the cheek. JJ waits for her to climb on the front seat and closes the door like a gentleman. Yuri grins. He can kind of see how JJ has managed to keep Isabella all these years. He can bet JJ has never thought of Isabella as something he’s just _used to_ having around.

When Yuri thinks about Inna, the slight sting is still there, but it’s lessening now, dulling into a numb pain he doesn’t really register anymore.

Yuri drives back to the house and decides to strike the basement. He walks down the basement stairs, carrying a few boxes with him.

Then he looks around the chaos surrounding him and promptly backs away from the basement. That’s something that can wait for another day or two.

Coming to the house is easier now, and Yuri sometimes finds himself smiling as he goes through his grandfather’s property. There is a pile in the corner of the living room that seems to be growing all the time. It’s the pile of stuff Yuri has decided to keep. When he first came here he thought he wanted to keep nothing, but now he finds himself sneakily adding to the pile every now and then. It started with a few books, then he added a framed picture of his mother and grandfather that was on his grandfather’s nightstand, then the big mug he used to drink hot chocolate from when he lived here. The mug has a chipped edge and the picture on the side has faded, but it reminds him of cold winter nights when they used to sit in front of the fireplace and toast marshmallows on barbeque sticks. Yuri had hot chocolate in his mug and he dunked the goopy marshmallow in the mug and ate it straight from the barbeque stick.

The kingdom of chaos down in the basement is going to be the worst, he can already tell. His childhood toys, board games and old dance equipment are all there, and he knows going through them is going to cause instant, possibly painful trips down memory lane.

Yuri looks down at the chipped mug and smiles sadly. They didn’t see eye to eye about a lot of things, but he knows his grandfather thought he was doing what was best for Yuri.

If only he wasn’t so vehement about his dislike toward Yuri’s dancing. Perhaps things would be different. Yuri wouldn’t have had to leave to pursue his dreams.

He could have stayed here.

Stayed here and what?

There aren’t many opportunities in a town like this for someone who aspires to dance.

Yuri doesn’t regret his years in New York. He doesn’t regret anything about them, not even the failed marriage to Inna. Everything that has happened has shaped him into what he is today.

He wouldn’t be the same if he hadn’t left.

Yuri leaves the chipped mug on top of the pile of books and steps out of the house. He feels drained, even though it’s only early afternoon. He drives back to the B&B and climbs up to his tacky room.

Yuri sits on the bed and checks his tablet for emails. He spends a moment replying to few of the more urgent ones and then realizes dinner might be in order.

Yuri walks over to the diner near the city hall. He’s not in the mood for a salad from the grocery store deli right now.

Yuri’s texting Mila as he walks, and he looks up briefly as someone ahead of him holds the diner door open for him.

“Thanks,” Yuri mutters and then does a double-take. _Shit_. Of course it has to be the best-looking guy in town, right when he’s sweaty from cleaning the house all day and coughing up dust particles.

Otabek smiles brightly as they both step into the diner. “Hi. I seem to be running into you a lot lately,” Otabek says and smiles again. “Are you new here?”

Yuri deflates a bit. “Um, I used to live here. Like a decade ago. I started high school that year when you were senior.”

Otabek looks surprised. “Oh, that’s… how come I don’t remember you?”

Yuri shrugs. “We didn’t really hang out in the same cliques.”

Otabek’s laughter is warm and hearty. “Well, I didn’t really hang out with anyone aside from my motorcycle in high school, so that’s not surprising.”

“Yeah, anyway. I left town ten years ago, moved to New York.” Yuri scratches the back of his hand absently.

Otabek’s eyes widen and his smile grows brighter. That smile is going to kill Yuri one of these days.

“Oh, wait. You’re the dancer!” Otabek exclaims. “Plisetsky, right?”

Yuri nods. “Yuri Plisetsky.”

This seems to be the part where they shake hands, because Otabek offers his. His hand is warm and his handshake firm.

“Otabek Altin. And I don’t know anything about dancing,” Otabek admits. “But the way they talk about you around here indicates you’re kind of famous.”

Yuri feels a flush going over his cheeks. “Um. I guess, in the dancing circles at least?”

“So, do you have company for dinner? Or would you prefer to eat alone?” Otabek asks, and it takes Yuri embarrassingly long to realize Otabek is asking if he can join Yuri for dinner.

“Um. no, I’m not expecting anyone. And company is welcome,” Yuri manages after a brief coughing episode.

The waiter comes to lead them into a booth and hands them menus. Yuri stares at his menu and feels surreal. One moment he was having some light text-message banter with Mila, and the next moment he’s sitting across the table from Otabek Altin in a diner booth. Yuri keeps stealing glances over the edge of his menu.

Otabek’s hair is sheared close to the skin at the sides and back, with the top left longer and gathered into a messy knot at the crown of his head. A few loose strands hang off the side of his face, and every now and then he brushes them back but they keep falling over his right eyebrow again.

Otabek’s eyebrows are straight lines above his brown eyes, and his skin is a few shades darker than Yuri’s. Yuri stops himself before he can think too much about how that skin would look against his own. There is a slight stubble on Otabek’s chin, but it bears the look of having been recently shaved, probably in the morning. His mouth forms a straight line like it did in high school, except for when his mouth spreads into a wide smile.

Like it’s doing now, as he’s staring back at Yuri with a smile on his face.

Yuri swallows and looks down at the menu. He was staring, and not just that, he was _caught_ staring. _Shit_.

The waiter comes to take their orders and Yuri points at the first item on the menu that seems even remotely edible. Otabek makes his order with certainty that feels like he comes here relatively often, and then the waiter takes the menus away.

Yuri realizes that without the menu he has nothing to hide behind anymore, so he grabs his phone and sets it on the table. He’s going to need something for his eyes to land on every now and then, because otherwise they’re going to keep landing on Otabek.

“So, a decade in New York, how does it feel to be back here? Does the town look different?” Otabek asks. He’s making small talk, but he also sounds like he’s genuinely interested.

“Well, there’s a new traffic light in the corner of Oak and Franklin, so that’s exciting,” Yuri says with an air of delighted sarcasm.

He’s rewarded with an amused laughter. Otabek actually throws his head back a little as he laughs, and Yuri catches a glimpse of the length of his throat. He absolutely _does not_ think about how it would feel to lick a stripe from the hollow between Otabek’s collarbones all the way up to his jaw. Not at all. Nope.

“I know what that’s like,” Otabek says and tilts his head. He’s still smiling. “I went to college in Chicago, and _boy_ did this place feel small when I returned.”

Yuri looks at him curiously. “Why did you? Come back, I mean.”

Otabek bites his lip like he’s amused. “Probably because I was still enough of a rebel. Nobody _expected_ me to come back, so of course I _had to_ come back.”

“And you stayed? Even when the rebellion inside died down?” Yuri asks, grinning.

Otabek laughs again, and Yuri’s insides flutter like they’re vibrating at a different frequency than the rest of him. How is Otabek so easy to talk to? And so damn attractive?

“I don’t think the rebellion is ever going to die. I mean, I still wear leather jackets and drive a motorcycle.” Otabek actually has the audacity to _wink_ after his statement, and Yuri feels his soul leave his body for a few seconds.

“You ride a motorcycle and run a daycare that you brought back from the brink of destruction. That’s kind of an unusual combination,” Yuri muses.

“Ah, I see you’ve heard the story about my heroic acts to save the daycare,” Otabek says and rolls his eyes good-humoredly.

“Small town,” Yuri says.

Otabek nods knowingly.

“So why did you come back?” Otabek asks in return.

Yuri sighs. “My grandfather’s funeral,” he mumbles.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” Otabek’s perfect eyebrows knit closer together. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s just that…” Yuri trails off for a moment. “I came back to go through his stuff and sell the house, and it’s proving to be a lot more difficult than I thought. I mean, I didn’t even talk to him for the past ten years, and now I’m here and I keep finding all these memories in the house, attached to the stuff that’s in there.” Yuri looks away. He doesn’t know what it is about Otabek that encourages him to pour out the most random assortment of thoughts and emotions like this. It just seems like Otabek is such a good listener. He doesn’t pry or ask for more, but he sits back and hums in a way that indicates he’s interested. Probably something they taught him in college: how to listen to a rambling child for hours on end and look interested while you do so. Because that’s what Yuri is at this point. Rambling, not a child.

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” Otabek says honestly, and it’s such a refreshing take on the matter. Most people say worn-out phrases like _I know how you must feel_ , or _I know it’s difficult_ , or _it will get better with time_. But Otabek just shrugs and states that he has no idea what Yuri is going through, and that’s probably the nicest thing Yuri has heard since coming back to this town.

Their food arrives, and as they’re grabbing forks and napkins and getting ready to eat, Yuri uses the moment of hassle to snap out of his weird state. He doesn’t know Otabek even a little, and yet here he is, pouring out details of his life he doesn’t discuss with anyone.

The rest of the dinner flies by with them sharing stories from high school and talking about the teachers they had. Otabek’s eyes are warm and Yuri has to keep looking down at his fries so he doesn’t get stuck staring at Otabek.

At some point their hands are on the table, knuckles almost brushing, but Yuri doesn’t know if it’s an accident or not, so he doesn’t dare move his fingers.

After dinner they pay for their own meals and walk out of the diner.

Outside the door, Otabek turns to look at Yuri. “If packing up the house ever gets too much, I’ve been told I’m a great listener. Or we can just sit in silence and drink coffee. You know, if you want.”

Yuri blinks. Did Otabek just ask him out?

“Yeah, I mean, sure,” Yuri manages. “Have you had the Italian puff pastries at Crispino’s?” he asks. “They’re delicious. So, I mean, we can meet there if that works for you?”

Is he already arranging a date? Jesus, Mila is never going to let him live this down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually reside on [tumblr](https://worldofcopperwings.tumblr.com), come talk to me there. My ask box is always open!  
> -  
> Thanks to the lovely [thoughtsappear](http://thoughtsappear.tumblr.com) for her beta work, once again.


	3. to love

 

The following day finds Yuri packing more and more of the house into cardboard boxes, and the pile of to-keep stuff keeps growing in the living room.

Yuri goes to the grocery store in search of more cardboard boxes so many times that eventually they tell him they simply don’t have any more to give him, so he drives to the next town over and spends five minutes groveling in front of the local grocery store manager, because apparently they don’t just _give_ empty boxes to people like that.

It must be one of the perks of small towns. It’s annoying that everyone knows him, but then again, _because_ everyone knows him, they won’t tell him _no_ at the grocery store when he comes asking for cardboard boxes. Because they know what the boxes are for and they’re not assholes.

The store in the next town over graciously hands him a few crappy boxes after Yuri explains his sob story, but they also let him know that there is a Staples like three towns over and he should go there next and actually _buy_ his damn boxes like everyone else.

Otabek listens to Yuri rant about cardboard boxes with inhuman patience. He’s twirling his spoon in his coffee and looking at Yuri with warm brown eyes, and not saying a damn word while Yuri lets it all out in a raging monologue that probably lasts about five minutes too long.

“The basement is the worst,” Yuri confesses, changing the subject, and sips his Italian blend coffee.

Otabek hums and keeps watching him across the table.

It’s near closing time at Crispino’s and Michele is casting them meaningful looks from behind the register, but Yuri doesn’t want to leave the sphere of influence of Otabek’s warm brown eyes and gorgeous smile just yet. It feels like just being close to Otabek replenishes his energy levels and rejuvenates him when he’s feeling like the house is an anchor weighing him down.

“I mean, I haven’t even been down in the basement since that initial _glance-around-and-then-nope-the-fuck-out-of-there_ ,” Yuri mutters, pushing the flaky crumbles left over from the pastry around his plate with his finger.

“You want help with the basement?” Otabek asks with such ease that Yuri forgets how to breathe for about two seconds. “I mean, I could come over, help you empty the basement, maybe bring a bottle of wine to help process things.”

“Um, sure,” Yuri says when his lungs finally remember their purpose in life and allow him sufficient oxygen to respond in a manner that _isn’t_ him blurting out something along the lines of, _please marry me right now_ , or possibly, _you’re fucking everything that I want in life and I want to bury my head in your neck and inhale your scent like some creepster_.

Otabek makes good of his promise next afternoon, which happens to be Friday and also Yuri’s deadline for putting the house ready for sale next week. He already accepted his defeat and called Victor in the morning, letting him know that the house will not be emptied and cleaned until Sunday at earliest.

Otabek appears at the house with a bottle of red wine when Yuri is covered in sweat and dust particles and his hands are screaming red from bleaching the bathroom within an inch of its life.

“Is this a bad time?” Otabek asks when Yuri opens the door and blinks at him.

Otabek looks perfect, right down to the few scattered specks of glitter on his eyebrows.

“Oh, that,” Otabek says when Yuri casually mentions the glitter but miraculously manages to do so _without_ revealing his urge to lick Otabek’s eyebrows. “We were doing art projects today. It tends to get messy.”

Yuri realizes that Otabek has been listening to him rant about the house and everything in his life, but he hasn’t really asked anything about Otabek’s life. He sets to redeem this by asking about the daycare and Otabek’s motorcycle and everything while they rummage around the basement.

“The daycare is the best, I get to watch the kids learn new things and acquire new skills every day. No two days are alike,” Otabek says, and there is a warm gleam in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to do any other work, honestly.”

Yuri nods. He can get that, because he gets similar bursts of happiness when he watches his students finally nail that one difficult series of steps they have been failing ten times in a row. The looks on their faces are always worth all the teeth-gritting anger and sobbing that have been attached to the failed attempts.

Well, these days he doesn’t teach many kids’ classes, because he’s mostly concentrated on choreographing for the company productions, so the dancers are older and more advanced.

He makes a mental note to make time for a couple of kiddie classes in the spring, though, because seeing the look on Otabek’s face reminds him how awesome it was to have a classful of over-exited wobbling toddlers, each and every one of them prima ballerinas inside their own heads.

“Aww, is this yours?” Otabek holds up a small kitten costume.

Yuri makes grabby hands at the item. “Yes, oh my god. Second grade dance production. I was a mischievous cat.” He spreads the costume in front of him, smiling at the poofy tail and paws.

“That’s adorable,” Otabek coos, and Yuri casts him a glare with absolutely no bite to it.

They go through a boxful of Yuri’s old dance costumes. Yuri tells about the productions they were for and Otabek makes slightly sarcastic remarks until Yuri elbows him in the ribs. Yuri finds that he’s not bothered by the idea of Otabek going through his memories at all, which is kind of weird.

Once they’ve gone through two full shelves of the extensive chaos of the basement, Otabek tilts his head. “So, how about that wine?”

They climb upstairs, both covered in dust, and Yuri searches he kitchen cupboards for glasses. He already donated most of the kitchenware to a local charity, but he finds two mismatched coffee mugs. “Sorry, this is all I have,” Yuri says, laughing as he presents them to Otabek.

“Guess they’ll have to do,” Otabek replies with a smile.

They end up on the living room floor in front of the fireplace. Otabek pours the wine while Yuri lights the fire, and soon they’re seated in the warmth of the flames, sipping red wine from coffee mugs. Yuri can’t help the smile spreading on his face as they keep glancing at each other, so he tries to keep it hidden behind the coffee mug. As Yuri lowers the mug for a longer moment, Otabek looks at him and brushes a knuckle over his cheekbone to get rid of a speck of dust, and suddenly it’s the most natural thing in the world to push the wine mug aside and kiss Otabek on the mouth.

Yuri feels Otabek push his own mug away, hears it slide along the floor, and then Otabek’s hands are cupping his face and Otabek’s scent is all around Yuri like an airborne drug. The kiss is all sweat and dust and red wine, and once they pull apart, Yuri has to bite his lip to _not_ propose for the second time in as many days.

He can’t, however, stop himself from blurting, “God, how are you so perfect?”

Otabek laughs softly at this, and his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind Yuri’s ear. His topknot is slightly lopsided and strands are falling out of it and he still has glitter in his eyebrows. Yuri swallows and wants to touch him so badly it is like an ache spreading into his body.

He holds back, though, because he’s not sure if this is just him craving human contact in general, or if this is him actually wanting to touch Otabek. It’s been difficult to separate wanting to touch someone, _anyone_ , and wanting to touch a specific person since the divorce.

Otabek seems to sense the shift in the mood, because he pulls his hand back and looks worried. “Everything okay?”

Yuri swallows. “Yeah, no, I mean, yes.” He sits back and focuses on the flames in the fireplace. “It’s just… I got divorced recently and everything has been kind of a mess ever since.”

Otabek nods silently. “I understand,” he says evenly, and Yuri wants to scream, because no person should be allowed to be that fucking perfect.

They empty their wine mugs in silence and go back to the basement. The heavy burden of the past seems to hang above them like a storm, and even though Otabek is as warm and friendly as previously, it feels slightly different.

Yuri wonders if Otabek regrets kissing him back, now that he knows what a mess Yuri is.

 

*

 

“He’s probably thanking his lucky stars for dodging this particular bullet,” Yuri huffs as he and Mila are jogging around town the next day. Yuri is determined to not let the Crispinos’ pastries go to his waist, so he challenged Mila to an early jog the morning after Otabek’s visit to the house.

“You don’t know what he’s thinking,” Mila counters. “Unless you _talk to him_ , you know.”

“Because that would go over so well,” Yuri mutters, slightly out of breath as they run up the hill toward the water tower. “What should I say? _‘Hi, so I’m kind of a mess and I don’t know if I actually like you for **you** or because you’re nice to me and I crave human contact. But I still really wanna touch your dick, so please can I?’_ ”

Mila cackles breathlessly and slows down to a walk. “I’m too out of shape for this,” she complains. “But really, that’s exactly what you _should_ say. Okay, maybe minus the touching the dick part. But really, if you just openly let him know what he’s getting into, he can make his decision based on that and then either, well, let you touch his dick or not.” She winks and jabs Yuri in the side with her elbow.

“But I don’t want to hurt him in case this ends up just me needing human contact that’s not person-specific,” Yuri mutters. “That would be a douche move and make me a complete asshole.”

Mila quirks an eyebrow at him. “That thought right there already shows you care about him. Otherwise you wouldn’t be thinking about such things.”

Yuri sighs. “I’m leaving in a few days. How many feelings can I afford to develop for someone who lives in another state than I do?”

Mila spreads her hands in a gesture of uncertainty. “You never know unless you go for it.” She looks at him sharply. “Seriously. _Talk to him_. Tell him what you just told me. You can also tell him about the part where you want to touch his dick if that helps.” Her grin at the last sentence is downright shit-eating.

Yuri groans and speeds up again. “C’mon, hag, race you to the water tower!”

“You can run away from me but you can’t run away from your feelings toward Otabek and his dick!” Mila shouts as Yuri easily outruns her.

“Shout it to the whole world, will you?” Yuri groans over his shoulder.

“Gladly!” Mila replies.

They walk back down the hill, because Mila claims that otherwise she is going to have a heart attack before turning thirty-one.

They separate in the corner of the street right next to Phichit’s B&B. Yuri walks inside and absently greets Phichit and his three hamsters that happen to be on the front desk. He goes to take a shower and then makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to check out and spend the rest of his stay at the house after all. Even though it’s not far away, it’s still annoying to have to drive down every morning and then drive back every night after hauling boxes all day. The electricity and heating in the house work just fine, and if it gets too cold he can always drag his mattress down to the living room and sleep in front of the fireplace.

“You’re leaving?” Phichit asks, sounding surprised, as Yuri walks down with his bag and his hair still dripping wet after the shower.

“I’m going to face the ghosts of my past,” Yuri declares solemnly.

“Good for you,” Phichit hums as he hands out the bill.

Yuri gives it a cursory look. “I don’t suppose I get a discount for returning your hamsters when I found them nosing around?” he jokes before dropping his credit card on top of the sheet of paper.

Phichit laughs and processes the payment. When Yuri gets the receipt, there’s a five-dollar hamster discount.

Phichit winks. “Good luck with the house and all,” he says.

Yuri folds the receipt into his pocket. “Thanks.”

Staying in his old room proves to be too much, especially now that about half of the stuff is packed up in boxes and the room looks like a ghost of itself. Yuri drags his mattress down the stairs and drops it in front of the fireplace, topping it with pillows, sheets and blankets. He’ll only be around for a couple more days, so this will do just fine until his departure.

He spends the rest of the weekend making calls and piling boxes according to which charity has agreed to take what boxes out of his hands. The last call he makes is to have a rental dumpster delivered to the driveway so he can get rid of the furniture. No one is going to want decades old furniture that’s falling apart, so he figures this is the easiest way to get rid of it.

He realizes that since the dumpster arrives on Monday at earliest, he’s not going to be able to stick to his plan of leaving on Sunday. Grumbling, he calls Inna to let her know that he’ll be delayed. She sounds annoyed at having to keep Taiga around for longer, because apparently the cat has been anything but a model citizen during Yuri’s absence. However, Yuri knows Inna is not going to pour her frustration on an innocent animal, because she’s not an asshole. He tells her it’s only for a few more days and that of course he’ll pay for everything Taiga has destroyed.

Inna groans but ends the call with a, _“Well, what can you do? See you in a couple of days, then.”_

He sends another mass email letting his students know that classes will still be canceled until at least Wednesday and that he will keep them updated. Lastly, he calls the production manager, who is not happy about the delay but graciously gives him another week since the holiday show rehearsals do not start until October; but personal reasons or no, the leave is unpaid.

Yuri rolls his eyes but keeps his tone neutral as he assures that he never expected anything else.

Monday morning Mila is working an early shift at the library so Yuri embarks on his morning jog alone.

The mornings are getting chillier every day, and the leaves in the trees are slowly losing their green as September advances. Yuri shivers as he walks down the driveway, then looks left and right, trying to decide which way to run.

He chooses right because it’s ingrained to his memory. He used to jog to his dance classes at the studio, because it was a good warmup before the class. He doesn’t know how many times he ran this same route, carrying his leotards and his water bottle in a small backpack strapped to his torso. Now he’s not carrying anything, but the feeling is the same as it was years ago.

When he gets to the building where the dance studio used to be, he hesitates, slowing to a walk.

The building is old but in relatively good shape. Yuri walks over to the dirty windows and peeks in.

The studio space looks abandoned and sad. The mirrors and barres are still there, but everything looks like it’s covered in dust. One of the mirrors has fallen off the wall and shattered to shards all over the floor.

Yuri sighs and turns to continue his jog so he can get back to the house for when they deliver the dumpster.

He carries boxes to his car and delivers them around the county to charities and schools and whatnot, and what he can’t get rid of he dumps into the dumpster standing in the driveway.

The furniture proves to be a bit difficult, because no matter how much upper body strength he has built, he is not able to carry than just the smallest pieces out to the dumpster.

He considers calling Mila to help him, but decides that he’ll worry about it the following day, opting for a bath instead.

He doesn’t have a bathtub in his condo in New York, so soaking in warm, bubbly water feels like a luxury.

When he pads downstairs after his bath and sits on the mattress in front of the fireplace to dry his hair, he spots the half-empty bottle of red wine Otabek left behind two days ago. Yuri grimaces and goes to move the bottle so it’s not visible through the kitchen doorway.

The bottle seems to stare at Yuri from the kitchen counter whenever he walks past it. Eventually he stuffs it in a cupboard but he can still feel its presence, like some ghost of wines past.

The last box he carries out of the now-empty basement is the one with all his old dance costumes in it. Yuri strokes his finger over the sequins and mesh, trying to decide what he should do with the costumes.

The idea comes to him in the middle of the night, like a lightning bolt striking him in the head, and as usual, by the time morning comes the idea seems downright stupid.

The box of costumes sits beside the front door for the entire day while Yuri disassembles bookshelves into more manageable units he can carry out to the dumpster. He checks his phone every now and then, and when it gets closer and closer to the time when the daycare lets out, he finds himself looking at the time every two minutes.

In the end, he lets the screwdriver clatter to the floor and goes to fetch his jacket.

He carries the box into the car and drives over to the daycare.

There are other cars in the parking lot, and parents going in and returning with their offspring. Yuri sits in his car until the last car has left the lot and only one other vehicle remains—a motorcycle, parked under the tree in the front.

When the door opens, Yuri sucks in a breath and pushes the car door open as well.

Otabek stops dead on the front stairs as Yuri approaches, carrying a box.

“Hey,” Yuri greets.

“Hi,” Otabek says with a smile that is warm and genuine.

“So,” Yuri says, swapping the box from under his right arm to the left, supporting in on his hip. “This is probably a really stupid idea. But I was wondering, like, do you ever do dance or theater productions here, and if so, would you happen to need a boxful of costumes?”

Otabek’s smile spreads wider. “Not a stupid idea at all,” he says. “We’d love to have your costumes. Come on in, I can put the box into the storage room.”

Yuri follows Otabek inside the daycare building and down the hallway to a door that says _STORAGE_ in mismatched wobbly letters cut out of different colors of cardboard and decorated with glitter and stickers.

“The kids did the letters,” Otabek says, nodding toward the door while he unlocks it.

“No, really? And here I thought your cardboard cutting and decorating skills were really advanced,” Yuri deadpans.

Otabek laughs. “Here, let me take that,” he says, holding out his hands to take the box. He carries it into the storage while Yuri stands in the doorway, peering at the shelves. There are holiday decorations, spring-themed decorations and all kinds of craft supplies neatly stacked on the shelves. Otabek lowers the box on the floor and backs out of the narrow space.

“Thank you,” Otabek says as he closes the door again. “The kids are going to love dressing up in those.”

“No problem,” Yuri mutters, shrugging. Now that he doesn’t have the cardboard box to hide behind, he suddenly feels exposed. Like it’s clear as day that donating the costumes was not the actual reason why he’s here.

Otabek probably knows it’s not the reason why he’s here, but he doesn’t call Yuri out on it.

“Do you want a tour?” Otabek asks, gesturing around the hallway.

Yuri nods, grateful for any distraction that is going to keep him from pouring out his emotions for a bit longer.

The hallway is lined with clothing hooks and benches designed for someone who’s less than three feet tall. There are several doors along the hallway, and Otabek briefly opens the one with glittery letters saying _OFFICE_. “This is my kingdom of paperwork,” he says, flashing the view of a desk with stacks of paper, a laptop and a printer.

“We have two age groups here,” Otabek says, pointing toward the two doors across from each other. “Pinecones are aged one to three, and Guang Hong takes care of them along with Kenjiro.”

The names ring a bell. “They used to go to the same high school, didn’t they?” Yuri asks, squinting at the door that says _PINECONES_ like it would have answers for him.

“Yeah,” Otabek says. “And I have the older kids, aged four to five, sometimes up to six.” He points at the door that reads _EVERGREENS_.

Otabek opens the _EVERGREENS_ door so Yuri can take a look inside. It looks like a kindergarten classroom, with small tables and chairs and a corner with beanbags and a bookshelf full of books. There are boxes of toys, drawing supplies and other necessary equipment to keep a classroom full of energetic kids occupied.

“Cool,” Yuri says with a nod.

He realizes the grand tour is over, and now he either needs to leave or do as Mila suggested and talk to Otabek.

They walk outside together and Otabek locks the door behind them.

“Not too cold to ride your bike yet?” Yuri asks to say something as they stand awkwardly at the bottom of the front steps.

Otabek’s eyes slide over to the motorcycle and then back to Yuri. “Not quite, but I’m probably going to have to put her in the garage soon and start driving my car to work.”

“Oh, do you live far?” Yuri asks, realizing he has no idea where Otabek’s apartment is.

Otabek says the street name, and Yuri has a vague recollection of the suburb almost in the other end of the town. Not that _anything_ here is very far away, but it’s probably the farthest Otabek can live from the daycare without moving to another town.

“So,” Otabek says after the silence has stretched on for too long.

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” Yuri blurts, even though it isn’t exactly what he wants to say. But he figures it’s a starting point. He inhales and gets ready to continue his explanation, when Otabek’s reply interrupts his thought process.

“I’m not,” Otabek says. “It was a nice kiss.”

Yuri blinks.

“Oh,” he says stupidly. Suddenly everything else he had thought about saying vanishes from his head, and he stands staring at Otabek’s perfect eyebrows—glitter-free today—and his warm brown eyes and that smile that Yuri has to admit definitely makes him go a bit weak at the knees.

Otabek’s eyes are on him, and they stand in front of the daycare building, staring at each other. It kind of feels like there is an invisible wall between them, and Yuri doesn’t know how to shatter it.

“So, if you need help around the house, let me know,” Otabek mutters, his gaze flicking between Yuri’s eyes and his lips.

Yuri bites his lip and grins bashfully. “Well, actually I do need someone to help me carry the furniture outside. I have a rental dumpster in the driveway for them but these dancer’s muscles aren’t enough to carry everything.”

Otabek smiles and shrugs. “Well, I’m free now if you’re not busy.”

“What, now?” Yuri says, again feeling like the stupidest person on earth. Seemingly Otabek’s presence is enough to reduce his higher brain functions to near-nonexistent. “Uh, sure.”

Driving home, Yuri has to concentrate on looking at the road ahead so he doesn’t keep staring at his rear mirror where Otabek’s bike is following.

Yuri offers to make coffee, but Otabek politely declines and shrugs out of his jacket and his cardigan, so he’s only wearing a t-shirt as they embark on the mission to carry most of the furniture outside.

They start with the crumbling shelves in the basement, dragging them upstairs and out through the open door. Yuri very decidedly is _not_ staring at the way Otabek’s arm muscles flex as he lifts something. But he _notices_ it nonetheless, and it might be distracting enough for him to forget to watch out for the threshold so he stubs his toes as he walks. He’s wearing sneakers so it doesn’t exactly hurt, but it’s enough to make him stumble so they end up dropping the bookshelf they’re carrying between them.

“Sorry, sorry,” Yuri mutters. “I didn’t notice the threshold that’s always been there,” he jokes. It’s extremely rewarding to see the amused smile that spreads on Otabek’s face.

Once the basement is empty, they go upstairs. Yuri’s bedframe is carried out, followed by his desk and bookshelf, until the room is empty. The pieces of furniture have been in the same spots for so long that they leave behind darker shadows on the walls because the wallpapers around them have faded over the years.

Whoever ends up buying the house has to redo pretty much all the surfaces anyway. Yuri brushes a finger over the spot where his bookshelf used to sit and leaves the room as it is, with the unevenly-colored wallpapers and all.

The last room they tackle is Yuri’s grandfather’s bedroom. Yuri has already emptied the closets and the drawers, but it still feels sacrilegious to start carrying out furniture.

When they lift the bedframe and carry it out, there is an envelope on the floor underneath it. It doesn’t look like it was left there on purpose, but rather that it has fallen between the headboard and the wall at some point.

Once the bed is in the dumpster, Yuri runs back upstairs to see what the envelope is. He suspects it might be empty, but it isn’t.

It’s a letter, addressed to him and dated three years ago, but never sent.

Yuri’s knees just give in under him, and he sits down on the floor, tearing open the envelope.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but the letter reads like an apology. His grandfather writes about how much he misses Yuri and wishes things would have gone differently.

_—I was afraid you were going down the same road as your mother, even though I should have known you are your own person and not just a shadow of her mistakes. I have read about your career, and I want you to know I’m proud of you. I wish there was a way we could overcome our past differences—_

The world around him seems to fall out of focus and time slows down to a crawl. Yuri realizes Otabek is in the room only when there is a hand tentatively lowered to his shoulder. Yuri looks down at the letter, and it’s dotted with wet splashes.

Yuri turns to look at Otabek, blinking, and Otabek crouches beside him and hugs him without a word.

“I keep thinking that I should have called him, talked to him. But I was so busy with my life, I didn’t have time for my past,” Yuri mutters brokenly against Otabek’s shoulder. “And now it’s too late.”

It feels so good to have a warm shoulder against his cheek and a pair of strong arms wrapped around him. Yuri sniffles and allows himself a brief moment of sinking into it—the scent of laundry detergent mixed with sweat from lugging furniture, the sensation of body heat and muscle at such close proximity, and the sound of Otabek’s soothing words that don’t quite register in Yuri’s brain but the soft tone of his voice does.

It feels so good to be close to another human being. Yuri didn’t even realize how much he has craved body heat and closeness until now that he has Otabek’s t-shirt-covered shoulder under his cheek and Otabek’s arms around him.

“Are you okay?” Otabek asks when Yuri finally manages to tear himself away from the intoxicating touch.

“No,” Yuri says truthfully. “But it’ll get easier, I think.”

Otabek’s hand strokes his arm one last time as he nods. “Yeah, it probably will. But you have to give yourself time.”

Time is not really a luxury Yuri has, though. He can arrange two weeks off-work with relative ease, but he knows the hectic holiday season is ahead and everything he dropped to come attend the funeral is waiting to be picked back up as soon as he gets home.

They carry the rest of the furniture out and into the dumpster, and then there are only a few boxes full of stuff Yuri intends to keep and the mattress in front of the fireplace, along with cleaning supplies and the old vacuum cleaner in the closet.

“I have to clean up a bit, but I guess I’ll be heading back home tomorrow,” Yuri says, looking at the empty house. “You wanna drink the rest of the wine to celebrate the fact that the house is finally empty?”

Otabek mutters something that sounds like he doesn’t find it worth celebrating, but he accepts the coffee mug Yuri hands him and then quirks an eyebrow as Yuri digs the wine bottle out of the cupboard.

They sit on the mattress and stare at the flames in the fireplace, sipping wine in silence for a long while. Neither of them address the kiss that happened on this very spot a few days ago.

“It was great to get to know you,” Yuri says.

Otabek sighs into his wine mug. “Yeah, you too,” he says after gulping down what was left in the mug. “So, I better head home. Work in the morning.”

“Of course. Thanks so much for all your help,” Yuri says. In reality, he has no words that adequately describe how thankful he is. For the help, for the closeness, for kissing Yuri and not being a jackass about it afterwards.

Yuri doesn’t know how to address the thing between them, so he leaves it.

Maybe it’s for the best.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the trademarked Hallmark angst-interlude.  
> -  
> I usually reside on [tumblr](https://worldofcopperwings.tumblr.com), come talk to me there. My ask box is always open!  
> -  
> Thanks to the lovely [thoughtsappear](http://thoughtsappear.tumblr.com) for her beta work, once again.


	4. this place

 

After nine days back in his old home town, New York City feels like an anthill, full of people swarming around. The traffic is fucking awful and Yuri curses and honks as a cab cuts him off for the seventh time in as many minutes.

When he gets to Inna’s apartment, Taiga greets him with such indifference that Yuri wonders if the cat has been taking lessons from Inna.

Inna greets him with a brief hug and a bill for all the items Taiga has destroyed.

“Thanks for looking after her,” Yuri says, digging his wallet for cash so he can pay up right away.

“Sure. How was home?” Inna asks.

“Small,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Inna replies. “The rehearsals for the holiday show start next week.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Yuri says. He hates the formal small-talk, but that’s all they do these days. “Anyway, thanks again,” he says, pointing at Taiga in her carrier.

“No problem,” Inna says in a tone that implies she does not want to become the resident cat-sitter.

Not that Yuri is planning on traveling anywhere anytime soon.

He drives home to his condo and lets Taiga out of her carrier while he checks the mail piled on the doormat. The cat goes around the condo, sniffing everything suspiciously like she’s been gone for years instead of days. Among the mail, there’s the monthly utility bill, and that reminds Yuri to call Victor about the heating and electricity in his grandfather’s old house.

 _“Yuri, how was the drive to New York?”_ Victor greets him.

Yuri doesn’t ask how does Victor know that he left this morning. It’s a small-town thing.

“It was okay, not too much traffic in the middle of the week,” Yuri says. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about the house.” He absently pets Taiga when she circles around his feet, begging for attention.

 _“Yeah, so if you want me to handle the selling part, you need to mail me a power of attorney document that authorizes me to do that,”_ Victor says. Yuri can hear the clack of his keyboard as he types something at the same time.

Yuri sinks to the floor beside the door and allows Taiga to climb on his lap. The cat is purring contently and pushing her head against his free hand. “Yeah, about that,” Yuri says. “I don’t think I wanna sell the house right now.”

The house is empty, the dumpster full of furniture picked up from the driveway. The only thing left on the property is his grandfather’s car in the garage, but in reality, there is nothing stopping him from selling the house.

Victor says something in the other end.

“What was that?” Yuri asks.

 _“Why the sudden change of heart?”_ Victor repeats his question, clearly curious.

“Well, I was thinking I could have the house renovated a bit. Get a better price when I do sell it. But I don’t have time to deal with that until later, so I’m going to leave it for now,” Yuri says. “Can you text me the details of the utility companies so I can cut the gas and electricity off for the time being, though?”

Victor agrees and Yuri ends the call, dropping the phone on the floor beside him.

Taiga looks up at him.

“What?” Yuri asks. “I didn’t feel like selling the house right now, okay?”

He gives Taiga some food and walks back to his car that’s parked two blocks away because there weren’t any free parking spots closer to the building. He has to make the trip twice to be able to carry the stuff he decided to keep when emptying the house.

When he sets the second box down beside the door, Taiga comes to sniff it.

“Yeah, that smells like grandpa,” Yuri tells her. “Not that you’d know that, because you’ve never met grandpa.” His voice cracks a little, and he finds himself kneeling beside the box, cradling his cat in his lap and breathing into her fur to keep the tears at bay. The animal tolerates the cuddles, although her tail is swishing back and forth.

Yuri turns to the boxes to dig out the photograph he took from his grandfather’s nightstand; the one with his mother and grandfather in it. His mother must be around twenty in the photo, and she’s laughing at something while Grandfather is watching her fondly.

“See, this is Grandpa,” Yuri tells Taiga, pointing at the photo. “And Mama.” His finger slides over to her. “They’re both gone now.”

Taiga glances at the framed picture and yawns. She starts kneading his lap, and Yuri has to put her on the floor before she makes a torn mess of his jeans.

Yuri sets the photo on his own nightstand.

“I’m sorry for not calling,” he tells the photo. “I’m sorry for everything.”

 

*

 

The following weeks are busy, and Yuri feels like he barely has time to stop to breathe. The holiday show rehearsals are in full swing and his evening dance classes are booked until the end of the year.

Yuri goes from company production rehearsals directly to the dance studio where he hosts his lessons, chewing on quick snacks and sipping pumpkin spice lattes on the way. He occasionally has a fleeting thought that the latte is not as good as the Italian blend at Crispino’s, especially because the pumpkin spice latte is not accompanied by a certain pair of brown eyes, but he swats the thought away and keeps going.

Before Yuri even notices, it’s the end of November.

Mila texts and calls occasionally, so Yuri knows that Isabella had her baby two weeks before her due date and that Crispino’s has a seasonal holiday coffee blend that’s to die for.

 _You’re just trying to coax me to come back_ , Yuri texts Mila when she sends him a photo of those damn amazing pastries along with a steaming mug of the holiday blend coffee.

 _Damn right I am_ , Mila replies without shame.

She also has the audacity to send him a photo of Otabek one night when he’s teaching a class. Yuri checks the message during break and gets stuck staring at the photo. It’s taken in the library and clearly without Otabek’s knowledge. It shows him sitting on the floor, bent over a book in one of his awful grandpa sweaters and surrounded by kids.

 _I’m not the only one who misses you_ , Mila has captioned the photo, and Yuri’s heart twists like someone just stabbed him.

 _That’s just unfair_ , Yuri sends back and tosses his phone into his bag. “Alright class, back in position!” he shouts, clapping his hands. “C’mon, break is over!”

He goes through the rest of the lesson mechanically, putting all his thoughts into moving his body and working his muscles into the positions he’s disciplined and conditioned them to find over the years.

At home, he goes straight to bed and sleeps until his alarm goes off in the morning and the routine starts again.

December hits Yuri smack-on in the face, and the hectic rush of the holiday show keeps him busy until the show ends and suddenly there’s a lot more free time.

Free time is good, because it gives him time to breathe.

Free time is also bad, because it gives him time to _think_.

On December 27th, Yuri finds himself sitting on the couch on his condo and staring at his phone in his hand. The display shows Otabek’s number and Yuri’s finger hovers over the call button, but in the end he just presses the home button and browses instagram instead.

Why would Otabek want to talk to him? All Yuri did was use him to get the house emptied of furniture and then toyed with his emotions by kissing him, crying against his shoulder and disappearing soon after.

However, it does feel like there’s some unfinished business he needs to attend to.

 

*

 

The house is covered in snow and the garden is an untouched winter wonderland. Yuri kind of wants to dance across the planes of snow, but instead, he shuffles up the driveway and climbs up to the porch. The wind has swept snow all the way to the door, and he has to kick it aside to get the screen door open.

The inside of the house is almost as cold as the world outside, because even though the heating is back, the switch in the basement is in the _off_ position; the way he left it in September. He lowers the cat carrier to the floor and opens the door, but Taiga, being the princess she is, refuses to come out from where she has pushed herself under the blankets inside the carrier.

“Fine, be like that,” Yuri mutters.

Yuri bounces down to the basement and turns on the heating. There is no firewood beside the fireplace, but luckily the stash in the garage is still there. Yuri runs his fingers over the hood of his grandfather’s old car, still sitting in the garage. It’s one thing he forgot to get rid of back in September, but Yuri finds that maybe he doesn’t want to get rid of it after all. The teal-colored Beetle is old, and while the engine is probably shot to hell, it might still be fixable.

 _Perhaps JJ could help with that_ , Yuri finds himself thinking while he carries an armful of wood inside.

He hopes the chimney is not blocked by snow, but it seems to be working fine as he lights the fire, waiting for it to heat up the living room. He goes to fetch the inflatable mattress and the bags of groceries from the car, along with Taiga’s litterbox.

When he gets back inside, Taiga is sniffing around the living room and finally goes to huddle near the fire. Yuri grins and pulls the cat on his lap, and she curls up in the warmth, purring. Little by little the house starts to feel warmer, and by the time it’s completely dark, Yuri can finally toss aside his winter coat.

Who would have thought that he’d spend the fourth-last night of the year with his cat in his grandfather’s empty house?

He fills the air mattress and spreads a sleeping bag on it. The living room feels empty without any furniture, and the echoes in the house feel alien. Eventually, Yuri falls asleep listening to the crackle of the fire in the fireplace.

In the morning, Yuri drives to the nearest hardware store and buys a snow shovel and, impulsively, a set of tools.

By the time he has shoveled half of the snow off the driveway, Mila is calling him.

Yuri fumbles with his mittens so it takes a long time before he manages to hit the green button, one mitten falling to the ground as he holds the phone to his ear.

 _“You’re back?”_ Mila gasps as soon as he picks up. _“And you didn’t tell me you were coming! How dare you?”_

Yuri looks around and gives the neighbors’ houses a royal wave with the back of the hand that still has a mitten on. If they were able see through the mitten they’d see the middle finger he’s giving them right now. It figures that someone has already told someone, who told someone, who told someone and so forth.

“Yeah, I needed a breather so I came to check on the house.”

 _“Well, how’s the house?”_ Mila asks.

Yuri snorts out a laugh. “Empty. Lucky I didn’t empty the garage so at least I have some firewood.”

 _“Do you need anything?”_ Mila inquires. _“I can swing by after work.”_

“I don’t need anything,” Yuri says. “But you can swing by anyway.”

He goes shopping for necessities he figures he’ll need over his stay, like shampoo and a toothbrush and some towels. When he gets back there’s nothing to do, so Yuri finds himself in his old bedroom, using the toolset to detach the old, faded wallpapers from the walls. It’s tiring work in the spots where the wallpaper sticks to the wall so he has to gnaw it off one square inch at a time, but it turns out to be extremely satisfying when occasionally the wallpaper peels off in long strips all the way from the ceiling to the floor.

“Yura? Are you in?” Mila shouts from downstairs, and Yuri lowers the knife he was using to peel off a particularly difficult spot in the corner of the room. “Well _hello_ , who are you?” she asks in a tone that indicates either she found Taiga or Taiga found her.

“Up here,” Yuri shouts.

Mila stomps up the stairs and soon pokes her beanie-covered head into Yuri’s old room. “What on earth are you doing?” she asks, looking at the strips and bits of wallpaper on the floor. She hugs Taiga to her chest, and surprisingly, Taiga is not trying to claw Mila’s eyes out.

“Renovating,” Yuri mutters, dropping the knife on top of the toolbox.

“You?” Mila giggles. “ _Renovating_? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Yuri crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Mila.

Mila simply laughs brighter and comes inside the room. She lowers Taiga on the floor and reaches to hug him. “It’s good to see you,” she says, squeezing him so tight Yuri is certain at least three of his ribs fractured. “If you’re done, uh, renovating for the moment, how about dinner?”

Mila mocks him endlessly about his newly discovered passion for hacking down wallpapers, and Yuri tolerates it by rolling his eyes at her so many times she tells him they’re going to get stuck like that.

“So how long are you in town for?” Mila asks as they walk down the street from the diner.

Yuri shrugs. “I wanted to come see the house and how much of the surfaces and such I could do myself. I don’t really have much planned for the spring, so this was the perfect opportunity to take some time for that.”

He doesn’t clarify that he deliberately kept his spring schedule empty of all classes, to the dismay of his students and the owner of the dance studio space that he rents for his classes.

Mila doesn’t say anything, but she gives him this _look_ , and Yuri knows what her next words will be even before she utters them.

“Have you talked to Otabek?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Yuri shrugs. “We hung out for like four times three months ago and kissed once?”

“Well, go hang out with him four more times and kiss him again, see where it goes?” Mila says in a tone that indicates she thinks Yuri is the densest piece of work to ever walk the streets of this town.

Yuri just shrugs and doesn’t say anything.

The following morning Yuri googles a lot of things about house renovating, only to realize he’s in way over his head and probably needs to hire a contractor to help at some point.

He’s browsing paint samples and sipping hot chocolate in front of the fire when there’s a knock on the door.

Yuri lowers the mug on the floor and his phone on the air mattress and walks to the door. As he spreads the door wide open, he gets stuck staring at how gorgeous Otabek looks in a gray wool coat and a black beanie. Then he recovers, shakes his head to clear his thoughts and pushes the screen door open.

“Hey,” Yuri says.

Otabek gives him a tentative smile. “So, I went to the library, and Mila told me you were in town,” he says. “I brought coffee and pastries from Crispino’s. Interested?”

Yuri is too busy plotting Mila’s death to answer right away, but he steps aside to let Otabek in.

Taiga, the traitorous animal, comes over to rub herself against Otabek’s leg. Yuri glares at the cat, who used to hate everyone aside from Yuri and Inna but seemingly _loves_ everyone in this town.

“Well, hello, who is this?” Otabek asks. He sets down the coffee and pastries and crouches down to pet Taiga.

“This is Taiga, and she’s not usually this friendly,” Yuri mutters. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s jealous of the cat being able to do what he’d want to do. Not that he necessarily wants to rub himself against Otabek, but he wishes it was easier to close the distance and hug him.

“Well, clearly she has good taste, then,” Otabek says, looking up at Yuri with a wide smile.

That gorgeous smile still robs Yuri’s knees of all their strength, and he steps back to lean against the kitchen doorframe, casually, like he doesn’t really need it to support him.

“I see you still haven’t gotten much in terms of furniture,” Otabek muses when he finally stops petting Taiga and grabs the coffees from the floor.

Yuri shrugs. “I came to see what kind of renovation the house needs, for better resale value,” he explains.

Otabek looks a little bit like a deflated balloon for a moment. “Oh,” he says. “Well, if you need any help…”

“Are you telling me you renovate houses too, aside from teaching kids at a daycare?” Yuri snorts.

Otabek smiles. “No, but one of my former classmates is a contractor. You remember Seung-gil?”

The name brings back a hazy flashback of a grumpy-looking black-haired kid. “Vaguely,” Yuri mutters.

“Well, I’m sure I can get you a good deal if necessary,” Otabek offers.

 _How are you so perfect?_ Yuri doesn’t ask aloud, but he probably thinks it so loudly that somehow Otabek must hear it.

Otabek takes off his coat and beanie, and his topknot is tousled, giving him an incredibly sexy just-woken-up look. He’s wearing one of those ridiculous grandpa sweaters, but somehow he manages to make even that look good. Yuri has to struggle through several internal battles so he doesn’t jump Otabek right there and then.

They both sit on the air mattress in front of the fireplace, and Yuri accepts the coffee Otabek offers him.

“I remembered you like these,” Otabek says, opening a box filled with _sfogliatella_ pastries. Yuri has to bite back yet another remark about how perfect Otabek is. To keep himself from saying anything stupid he simply nods and sinks his teeth into the pastry.

“Thanks,” Yuri mumbles through a mouthful of pastry. “So, how are things?” Yuri asks after he’s swallowed the bite and with it any stupidities his brain tries to make him trip over.

Otabek’s eyes are warm but somehow sad. “Things are good,” he says.

“How are the kids?” Yuri asks.

“They’re good, too. You know, we did a holiday dance show with your costumes,” Otabek says. “Do you want to see pictures?”

“Oh yes, definitely.” Yuri smiles.

He shuffles closer on the mattress as Otabek pulls out his phone and starts shifting through the photo galleries. Yuri can feel Otabek’s warmth against his side, but he forces himself to sit still and look through all the photos of the tiny human beings in his old dance costumes.

“I love the mischievous cat,” Yuri says, grinning at the small girl in his old cat costume. The costume is too big for her, so the front paws hang below her knees and the tail drags on the ground.

“She wouldn’t agree to wear anything else,” Otabek says, snorting out an affectionate laugh.

Yuri realizes how close they are sitting to one another as they’re bent over Otabek’s phone. Otabek’s shoulder is brushing against his, and whenever Otabek laughs, Yuri can feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek.

Like that one time before, suddenly it’s the most natural thing in the world to turn his head and catch Otabek’s lips with his. The first kiss, eons ago, was sweat mixed with dust and red wine, but this one tastes like sweet Italian pastries, dark-roasted coffee and cold winter days.

The kiss is brief and warm, but when Yuri pulls back, he sees the hurt in Otabek’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Yuri says as a reflex.

Otabek swallows. “You can’t just keep doing that and then leave afterwards,” he mutters, turning to look at Taiga, who is curled up at their feet in the warmth of the fire.

“I know,” Yuri replies, fingers wrapping around his takeaway coffee mug so hard the cardboard almost caves in. “I’m sorry.”

Otabek leaves soon after, and Yuri wonders why did he come in the first place? What was he seeking to accomplish?

Yuri stares at the fire for a long time, absently munching on one of the pastries Otabek left behind. Taiga stretches in front of the fire and yawns, and Yuri pulls her close to hug her. The cat can’t fill the Otabek-sized hole beside him, though.

 

*

 

It’s the last day of the year, and Yuri finds himself extremely busy.

He doesn’t want to call Otabek to ask him about the contractor, but luckily he recalls Seung-gil’s last name and google helpfully tells him Seung-gil’s work number.

Then it’s a matter of calling Victor to inquire about the selling process of a house.

 _“You’re finally selling the house_?” Victor asks, and Yuri is not sure if the tone of his voice is surprised or disapproving.

“Do you have like a checklist for selling a house that I can go through, see if I have everything down?” Yuri asks without bothering to reply to Victor’s question. “I feel like there’s a million tiny things I haven’t even thought about.”

 _“I’ll email you,”_ Victor simply says.

Yuri reads the email and then sets out. He drives to make a brief pit stop at his old dance teacher’s house.

Madame Lilia eyes him just as disapprovingly as she did years ago when she was correcting his positions at the barre.

“I see you still slouch your shoulders,” she says by way of greeting, but she opens the door to let him inside.

“Well, it didn’t stop me from dancing for a world-famous dance company for five years,” Yuri replies, raising one eyebrow.

“The attitude is also the same as it used to be,” Madame Lilia mutters, but Yuri can see she is smiling.

After his visit to Madame Lilia’s house, Yuri drives back home and starts making phone calls. It’s not like he’s in a hurry, but somehow he feels like he wants to get everything done before the year is over. He wants to start the new year off fresh, without any of the old baggage.

It takes two hours and by the time he’s done, both Taiga and his own stomach are making such a racket that Yuri feeds the cat and then leaves to get dinner. He wades through the snow to the diner.

Otabek is in the diner.

 _Of course_ he is in the diner, because this is the smallest place on the planet. Where else would he fucking be?

Yuri’s eyes spot him immediately as he walks in. Otabek is alone and eating one-handed while he browses his phone with the other.

He’s simultaneously the person Yuri doesn’t want to see and the person Yuri most wants to see. It’s a contradictory feeling.

Yuri unwraps the scarf from around his neck and walks gingerly over to Otabek’s table. “Hi,” he says.

Otabek looks up and fumbles with his phone. “Hey,” he says and clears his throat.

“Did you want to eat alone, or…?” Yuri asks.

Otabek motions to the seat across. “No, please, sit,” he says.

Once Yuri sits down, the waitress comes over and hands him a menu. Yuri points at the same portion he ordered last time he was having dinner here with Otabek, and the waitress takes the menu back and leaves.

They stare at each other across the table.

“So,” Yuri finally says. “I talked to Seung-gil today, about the renovation of the house.”

“Oh,” Otabek says, his voice low. His eyes are lowered until he’s looking down at his plate.

Yuri swallows. “I also talked to him about renovating Madame Lilia’s old dance studio,” he continues. “And I contacted a real estate agent in New York.”

Otabek’s eyes rise from the plate and lock onto Yuri. “ _What?_ ” he asks, voice disbelieving.

Yuri feels a weird feeling swelling inside him. It’s the warmth of familiarity, mixed with fear of uncertainty. It’s hopefulness and worry and some big unnamed emotion, all lumped together and swirling within his chest.

“I’m selling my condo in New York,” Yuri clarifies. “I’m renovating the house, and the old dance studio so I can open it up for classes again.”

Otabek’s mouth opens just slightly, then closes, then opens again. Eventually, he manages to choke out, “You mean you’re—”

Yuri nods. “I’m staying.”

“Are you sure?” Otabek asks, his brow furrowing a bit as if in concern.

Yuri nods. “I’ve given it a lot of thought over these last three months. New York has been good to me for the past decade, but coming back here… I never realized how at peace it made me feel, until I went back and noticed the rush of my life left me tired and breathless all the time.” Yuri inhales and looks at Otabek. “And there were… other things to come back for. Namely you.”

It’s a scary thing to admit out loud, but the result is _so_ worth it. The smile that spreads on Otabek’s lips is unlike any other smile Yuri has ever seen on his face. He’s seen a friendly smile, a happy smile, a slightly sad smile, but this is the smile to end all smiles. It’s laced with such deep happiness that Yuri has to swallow and blink so he doesn’t get knocked out by the sheer force of it.

Otabek is out of his seat and standing next to Yuri’s so quickly that Yuri has barely time to register that he’s moved. Then he’s pulled up and into a kiss that’s so passionate that it draws every oxygen molecule out of his lungs and reduces his knees to useless lumps of jelly.

When Otabek finally lets Yuri go, someone starts clapping behind them.

Yuri groans and ducks his head, but Otabek laughs heartily and then grabs Yuri by the jaw, pulling him into another kiss.

Otabek keeps staring at him throughout dinner, holding his hand even though it makes eating so much more difficult, and under the table his leg is brushing against Yuri’s with deliberately slow movements.

Yuri recalls the first time they sat across from each other and he kept staring at Otabek. There’s also a series of other memories, of things he thought he’d want to do to Otabek. All of those things are coming crashing down, and Yuri finds himself aching to touch Otabek all over.

“I’m still a mess, you know,” Yuri says casually as they’re getting the bill and Otabek insists on paying for both of them.

“I can handle a mess,” Otabek assures him. “As long as it’s my mess.”

Yuri will gladly be his mess, his boyfriend, his anything, if it keeps Otabek holding his hand and looking at him like he’s the sun and the moon and all the galaxies compressed into one person.

“So, do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?” Yuri asks as they walk out of the diner.

“I am open to suggestions, as long as they don’t require me to let go of your hand,” Otabek replies, tugging Yuri closer by said hand and kissing him again in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I think I can live with that,” Yuri breathes once Otabek releases his lips.

 

*

 

The first morning of the new year, Yuri Plisetsky wakes up on an air mattress in the house he left behind at the ripe age of eighteen and swore he’d never return to. The house sits in the suburb of the small town he similarly swore he’d never return to.

Some things are exactly the same. The town is the same, the house is the same, and yet here he is, back to the roots he swore to kick up all those years ago.

What is different, as he struggles toward wakefulness on this first morning of the new year, is the warm body pressed against his back and a whole lot of cat hair in his mouth.

“ _Taiga_ ,” Yuri mumbles, trying to shove the cat off his pillow.

Taiga meows and then jumps off the mattress in a huff.

The warmth against his back shifts, and there is a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck.

Yuri is pretty sure he melts into the mattress and his physical form ceases to exist as Otabek keeps dropping feather-light kisses on his shoulders, eventually tugging Yuri around so they’re facing each other.

Otabek’s hair is an absolute mess and his eyes are sleepy, but there’s still that _look_ in them, something so deeply happy that Yuri melts further and probably ceases to be on any astral plane of existence either.

“Hi,” Otabek says, his voice sleep-raspy.

Yuri extends a his physically and spiritually nonexistent hand and brushes a dark strand of hair off Otabek’s face.

“Hi,” he whispers.

After breakfast eaten off disposable plates, they sit in front of the fireplace and talk about the past, the present and the future. Yuri keeps glancing at the ceiling like he expects his grandfather’s ghost to be somewhere up there, watching benevolently over them.

Yuri sends out two texts, and his phone rings not two minutes after.

He glances at Otabek and answers. “Hey, Mila,” he says.

 _“So, you finally told him you want to touch his dick,”_ Mila states, sounding delighted.

Otabek bursts out laughing, having heard Mila’s words, and Yuri rolls his eyes. “Well, not in so many words, but…”

_“Sweet. Also what’s this about you wanting to hire me? I’m not going to jump naked out of your wedding cake if that’s what you’re asking.”_

“Nobody said anything about a wedding,” Yuri mutters, dragging his hand over his face while Otabek beside him trembles from stifled laughter. “But there is this dance studio opening in town and I heard they’re looking for instructors.”

Mila is silent for all of three seconds, which must be a world record of some kind. _“Are you serious?”_ she finally inquires, and the teasing tone is gone.

“Yeah, I am,” Yuri says, and he can’t help the swelling feeling of happiness in his chest when Mila starts screaming with joy.

When Yuri finally ends the call he’s sure he’ll have tinnitus for weeks, but somehow it doesn’t seem so bad.

He notices a text in his phone, a reply to the one he sent at the same time as he sent Mila’s. It’s JJ, telling him that it’s good to have him back and of course he’ll fix the old Beetle for Yuri. The text is followed by a string of pictures of his daughter, because JJ is nothing if not a proud father.

Yuri shakes his head. “It’s so weird to think that I’m back for good,” he mutters.

Otabek pulls him close and kisses his temple, and the touch sends sparks flittering all over Yuri’s body. “A good kind of weird, I hope?” he asks, lips against Yuri’s hair.

Yuri hums and pulls Otabek as close as physically possible. “The best kind of weird,” he replies.

He might be a mess and there are definitely some issues he needs to work on, but at least that much was clear to Otabek right off the bat.

Yuri kisses Otabek softly on the lips and then tries to detach from the embrace, but Otabek won’t let him go.

“Nuh-uh,” Otabek says, hugging Yuri. “You don’t get to kiss me and leave ever again.”

Yuri laughs softly against Otabek’s neck. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but on occasion I do need to use the bathroom…”

Otabek’s laugh is a low rumble that vibrates against Yuri’s chest. “Fine,” he says. “You better come back, though.”

Yuri grins. “Oh, I will. And it’s not going to take three months this time. Promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was it, the oh-so-predictable mushy Hallmark fic. :') I hope you enjoyed! I know I enjoyed writing this :D  
> -  
> I usually reside on [thoughtsappear](https://worldofcopperwings.tumblr.com>tumblr</a>,%20come%20talk%20to%20me%20there.%20My%20ask%20box%20is%20always%20open!<br%20/>%0A-<br%20/>%0AThanks%20to%20the%20lovely%20<a%20href=) for her beta work, once again.


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